Lower Hudson River

We’re looking at Manhattan turned sideways, by way of a map published in 1865 by a civil engineer named Egbert Vielé. Its full title is Topographical Map of the City of New York; Showing Original Water Courses and Made Land. This probably sounds strange to a contemporary resident of Manhattan, since almost everything to be seen there is built up or paved over. The Vielé map reminds us that the island has a terrain and ecology. You can click on this hyperlink to view a more detailed image.

Back in 1811, specially appointed Commissioners had devised the city’s street grid—regularly laid out blocks north of Houston Street and below 155^th Street—and toward the right side of this map you’ll notice that at this point it’s more of a concept that overlays undeveloped land. Further downtown there’s a lot more infrastructure, not simply streets but the city’s Old Croton Aqueduct system and sewer lines. Not following the grid are numerous creeks and marshes, all of that water flowing off of the island. Over the years most of those streams have gone underground and become invisible to us.

But the history embodied here still is important. Rising sea levels mean those marshy areas and “made land” will be the first to be threatened by flooding, and obviously sewer lines require slopes downhill to operate. So the next time you’re in Washington Square, you might think about a watercourse named Minetta Creek that passed nearby: it was filled in, but water still flows and pools underground along its old route.

William Guy Wall & John Hill, "Palisades" (1820). At this time, the only way to cross the lower Hudson River was by ferry.

FROM THE GAZETTEER: "[At Troy, 160 miles from the ocean,] the river falls into an estuary, where its current is affected by the tide; and from this place to its mouth it is a broad, deep, sluggish stream. About 60 miles from its mouth the Hudson breaks through the rocky barrier of The Highlands, forming the most easterly of the Appalachian Mt. Ranges; and along its lower course it is bordered on the w. by a nearly perpendicular wall of basaltic rock 300 to 500 feet high, known as 'The Palisades'.... [Caldwell’s Landing] is just below the Highlands, and opposite Peekskill, with which it is connected by a steam ferry. The day line of steamers between New York and Albany land here. About 15 years since, a company was formed for raising an old wreck at this place, said to be one of the pirate Kidd's vessels laden with treasure! A coffer dam was built, machinery erected, and immense sums were expended in this insane project, which, it is needless to add, resulted in nothing but a total loss to all concerned....At an early period the Esopus grit was largely quarried and manufactured into millstones. Water-limestone of an excellent quality is found and largely quarried. The Ulster co. Cement has an excellent reputation throughout the United States, and is used in immense quantities on fortifications and other Government works requiring solidity. It was used on Croton, Brooklyn, Cochituate, Albany, Washington, and other water-works" (French 21, 570, 660). Major Tributaries: Rondout/Wallkill Rivers, Catskill Creek, Croton River. Major Lakes: Ashokan Reservoir, Rondout Reservoir. Highest Point: West Kill Mountain (3881 ft). Area: 4,892 square miles in New York state.

Paul Goodman, "The Lordly Hudson" (1947)

One of the most widely read countercultural thinkers after World War II, Goodman was among three developers of Gestalt Therapy during the 1940s-50s, and a beloved advisor for student activists via books like Growing Up Absurd (1960) and Compulsory Mis-education (1964). But he wasn’t simply a radical attacking all systems of institutional organization. As an essayist, novelist, and (here) a poet, Goodman was effective at articulating what a fulfilled, ecstatic life might look like. “The Lordly Hudson” was adapted by the composer Ned Rorem into a brief lyrical aria, also in 1947. You can hear Kyle Bielfield and Lachlan Glen perform the piece by following this link. It appears that the poem's speaker is returning home to his beloved New York city... is there really anything happening here? Or if it's more about evoking a certain feeling, why do the repeated phrases help achieve this effect?

"Driver, what stream is it?" I asked, well knowing
it was our lordly Hudson hardly flowing.
"It is our lordly Hudson hardly flowing,"
he said, "under the green-grown cliffs."

Be still, heart! No one needs
your passionate suffrage to select this glory,
this is our lordly Hudson hardly flowing
under the green-grown cliffs.

"Driver, has this a peer in Europe or the East?"
"No, no!" he said. Home! Home!
Be quiet, heart! This is our lordly Hudson
and has no peer in Europe or the east.

This is our lordly Hudson hardly flowing
under the green-grown cliffs
and has no peer in Europe or the East.
Be quiet, heart! Home! Home!

Samuel Colman, Storm King on the Hudson (1866). Located at the narrows of the Hudson Highlands, this distinctive mountain was called Boterberg by Dutch colonists because it resembled a mound of butter. But its name changed due to a purported ability to forecast storms—or in any event, to be distinctively shrouded in clouds. Painters of the 19^th century were attracted to Storm King’s dramatic setting and often atmospheric lighting, for example Thomas Cole’s painting of 1825. Colman takes a different approach. Rendering a scene amidst the rise of post-Civil-War industrialization, he also includes a group of steam-powered boats. Take a close look at the painting’s composition and see what you think; then, follow this hyperlink to learn how Margaret Broun, Director of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, interprets Colman’s painting. You can zoom in by clicking on the painting.

Works Consulted

—Broun, Margaret. “Director’s Choice: Storm King on the Hudson by Samuel Colman.” Smithsonian American Art Museum, 2014. Video.

—French, J. H. Gazetteer of the State of New York. Ira J. Friedman, 1860.